For Captain Faramir
by Dimfuin
Summary: Beregond's P.O.V. on Denethor and Faramir in the third book. Mostly canon from the book, but I fleshed it out and created my own character from Beregond.
1. Default Chapter

_A/N:_ This story is, I am afraid to say, the most un-original story I have ever written. It is basically JRR Tolkien's own storyline, with some of the missing gaps filled in. I felt a need to tell it from Beregond's perspective, as Beregond is one of my favorite minor characters in the books, and I always thought that he should have been fleshed out more. Then when they totally cut him out of the movie...well, this story took shape. There are three chapters to this, so look for more in the future. Enjoy, and don't forget to review!

[Thoughts are in brackets]

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For Captain Faramir

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By Dimfuin

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I watched him riding out of the city that day, head held high and proud, a captain of men, but with that look of pain in his eyes that had been there so often of late...at least since his brother died. He was silent, not responding to the cheers and smiles in the crowd, nor taking the flowers held out to him by several of the women. Indeed, he seemed to be in a totally different world altogether. His horse trotted swiftly down the paved roads at the head of his host.

"They give him no rest. The Lord drives his son too hard, and now he must do the duty of two, for himself and for the one who will not return." Muttered one of the guards at my side. I glanced at him swiftly, nodding shortly. We all saw it...why could the Steward not?

"Faramir!" A strong voice down below broke through my thoughts and I turned my head to look at the speaker. Mithrandir. "The will of Denethor has turned to madness! Do not throw away your life needlessly!"

"Where does my allegiance lie if not here?" Asked Faramir quietly. The city held it's breath, following the exchange. Mithrandir looked after Faramir as he rode away determinedly.

"You're father loves you, Faramir, and will remember it ere the end. Farewell." Mithrandir's voice was soft now, sorrowful. I watched a silent tear slip down the face of a woman on the level below mine as she handed a bunch of flowers to her husband. He took them, his gaze fixed on hers in a long lingering goodbye look. [This is not right.] I thought desperately, [They should not be going to their deaths like this. Someone must stop this madness!!] But no one could. Captain Faramir rode out of the gate, intent on following through with his father's commands. The men followed diligently, and the gate shut with a clang.

As they began the long ride over the fields towards Osgiliath, the sound of a song came wafting out of the great hall. It was the halfling, I realized with a start, singing a mourning song. As his song continued, the men charging grew smaller and smaller, becoming mere dots. The whole city watched as they drew ever nearer, nearer. Peregrin's voice behind me faltered, and then we saw the black dots falter as well. [They are shooting them down.] I thought bitterly, bowing my head so as not to see anymore. [That is the end. Rest in Peace, my brothers.]

Would Denethor care when he heard the news? Would he grieve the loss of his son...the son he sent into needless battle to die at the hands of the enemy? I turned from the scene below just as a screech filled the air and I clapped my hands to my ears. All around the city men yelled as the black sound of the Nazgul filled their hearing, and everywhere dread stole into our hearts and held tight. We had just seen our beloved captain die in battle...would not the whole world be plunged into blackness and death?

"Open the gates!" The murmur spread through the city quickly, washing some of the fear that the oncoming host brought with them away for a moment. The gates creaked open slowly, a lone horse straggling through. It dragged something...a man.

"The Lord Faramir!" Someone called, and hope surged through my veins. A man stooped to cradle his head, then looked up.

"It is he!" he cried, "Bring a bier! We must bear him to Lord Denethor!"

As they passed through the streets, men called out with cheers, then fell silent at the look of the steward's son. He was not dead yet, but it looked to be only a matter of time. They bearers bore him swiftly to the highest level, past my post and upwards.

Several hours later, as I stood at my post, I heard the light pattering of feet and turned. It was the small form of a hobbit that I beheld, and I called out to him. "Whither do you run, Master Peregrin?"

"To find Mithrandir," his small voice panted behind me.

"The Lord's errands are urgent and should not be hindered by me," I said, worry knotting in my stomach, "but tell me quickly, if you may: what goes forward? Whither has my Lord gone? I have just come on duty, but I heard that he passed towards the closed door, and men were bearing Faramir before him."

"Yes," The little hobbit said, grimly, "to the Silent Street."

All of my fears rushed upon me and I bowed my head as the tears squeezed slowly out. "They said that he was dying," I murmured, "and now he is dead."

Pippin shook his head vigorously, pulling on my sleeve. "No, not yet. And even now his death may be prevented, I think. But the Lord of the City, Beregond," his voice turned urgent, "has fallen before his city is taken. He is fey and dangerous, and he means to burn Faramir alive instead of waiting for his death."

I caught my breath. "Lord Denethor is then completely mad," I sighed.

Pippin nodded. "I must find Gandalf at once."

"Then you must go down to the battle," I said, surprised that this little hobbit would risk so much for one he knew hardly at all.

"I know. The Lord has given me leave. But, Beregond, if you can, do something to stop any dreadful thing happening." He turned to leave.

"The Lord does not permit those who wear the black and silver to leave their post for any cause, save at his own command!" I reminded him.

"Well, you must chose between orders and the life of Faramir," the hobbit sighed, "And as for orders, I think you have a madman to deal with, not a lord. I must run. I will return if I can." And he was off.

I stood stricken. I could not let Faramir die, nor would I lightly abandon my duty. Oaths I had taken, and one cannot break them lightly. But this...was this a worthy excuse? The penalty would likely be death, but what was my life compared with Lord Faramir's? How could I forgive myself if I let him die? Cursing, I dashed up the hill. In no time I was at the door to the sacred places. [Delthain.] I thought breathlessly. [Not good.] I raised my voice, looking steadily at the porter. "Let me pass, Delthain. There is urgent business to attend to inside."

"You were sent for by the Steward?" He asked cocking an eyebrow.

I sighed. "No, I was not. But you do not understand...he means to burn Lord Faramir alive!" my voice turned almost pleading. Delthain was unmoved.

"No doubt Denethor has control of his own affairs, Beregond, guard of the citadel." His voice dripped disdain. "I will not let you pass, for I at least do not forget my place, nor my duty." He looked me in the eye angrily.

His words bit deep, deeper than anything ever before. No thought is worse for a soldier than to know that he has broken troth with his lord, and to have others look down upon him. I swallowed, trying hard to wipe away the sting of his words. "Precious time is being wasted!" I growled, placing a hand on my sword hilt. "Every moment Faramir is more endangered!"

"I will not let you pass," he said obstinately, his own hand flying to his sword. I drew mine forth slowly, and he followed suit. "I do not want to fight you, Delthain," I said, looking past him through the door.

"You will have to," he snapped. I sprang forward, trying to slip past him, but he was to quick. He swung his sword just inches from my neck, and I fell back. He advanced slowly, and then with a cry jumped at me. I slashed out quickly, dodging his blow...and hit my mark.

"For Captain Faramir." I whispered as he crumpled to the ground without a single cry. Tears blinded me as I rushed down the corridor. Killing a fellow guard had not been one of the things I had set out to do. [I am too far into this now.] I thought, [I cannot back out.]

Five guards moved slowly about the room, carrying wood and oil. I saw at once their purpose and destination, the door at the end of the hall. Dashing forward, I planted myself firmly in front of the door, slamming it shut with my left hand, my right still brandishing my sword. "Stop!" I cried, shaking the hair out of my eyes. "Do you not know what you are doing? The Lord Faramir is ALIVE!"

The foremost guard narrowed his eyes at me. "A renegade guard? Why do you try to foil his Lordship's plans? Turncoat!" Their insults fell thick on my ears, but I paid no heed to them. The only thing that mattered right now was my captain's life. Again the foremost stepped forward. "Move, or we will slay you and tread over your traitorous body."

I raised my sword higher. "I will bring down as many of you as I can before that happens! My duty is by Lord Faramir's side, and I will stick with it." With a yell, he too sprang at me. Our swords rang out in the sacred hollows loudly, a sound that had not been heard in that place since the building of the city. Before long I had slain him too, and then the next sprang forward. Alas, I slew him as well, and my count that day was soon three. The other three glared up at me in disdain.

"What goes on out there?" A rough voice called from within the doors. "Who dares disobey my rules?"

The three guards frowned. "'Twould not be honorable to come at you three at a time," one said, "but it seems that we shall be put to it."

I grasped the handle of my sword tightly, readying myself for them. But they never came. A strong voice broke the stillness, shouting, "Stay! Stay!" Mithrandir sprang forward out of the shadows. I breathed easier. "Stay this madness!" He went on.

"Haste! Haste! Do as I have bidden! Slay me this renegade! Or must I do so myself?" The voice from within came nearer and I felt the door beneath my left hand jerk violently. It flew open, causing me to fall against the wall. Denethor filled the doorframe, fire spitting from his eyes. He clutched a drawn sword.

Before he had time to do anything, a white flash startled us all and we covered our eyes from the brightness. When again I opened them, I saw Mithrandir springing up the steps, anger in his face. I quivered as it were, but I should not have liked to have been Denethor. With one swift movement, Mithrandir lifted his hand and Lord Denethor's sword flew out of his grasp. He stepped back, amazed.

Mithrandir's eyes smoked. "What is this, my lord?" he asked, walking steadily forward, "The houses of the dead are no places for the living. And why do men fight here in the Hallows when there is war enough before the gate? Or has our enemy come even to Rath Dinen?"

"Since when has the Lord of Gondor been answerable to thee?" Denethor asked, his voice low and dangerous. Any moment I would not have been surprised to see him jump at the wizard...though it would be utter stupidity to try. He went on, "Or may I not command my own servants?"

Mithrandir stopped. "You may, but others may contest your will, when it is turned to madness or evil. Where is your son, Faramir?"

A shadow passed across Denethor's face, and his eyes faltered. His voice came in a whisper. "He lies within. Burning, already burning. They have set a fire in his flesh. But soon all shall be burned. The West has failed. It shall all go up in a great fire, and all shall be ended. Ash!" He cried loudly, "Ash and smoke blown away on the wind!"

We all stared at him, our hearts stopping. For a moment I too almost gave up hope, but then my glance fell on Mithrandir's face. He set his teeth and pushed forward, Denethor giving way before him. Peregrin and I followed Mithrandir in.

Inside, Pippin and I stopped and caught our breath. There, on the table, lay Faramir, surrounded by wood. [Has it come to this?] I thought miserably, [That Faramir lies, shaking and wounded, his clothing drenched in oil on a bonfire about to be lit by his own father? The will of Denethor is indeed turned to madness! He needs not a tomb, but a healer!]

Mithrandir uttered something which I did not catch, and then sprang lightly onto the table, atop the wood. He picked Faramir up gently and bore him down. As he walked, Faramir's face changed in his dream and he moaned, calling hoarsely out to his father.

Denethor shook himself and his keen glance fell on his son's face. His eyes filled with tears. "Do not take my son from me!" He said brokenly, "He calls for me."

Mithrandir did not stop. "He calls," he said, "but you cannot come to him yet. For he must seek healing on the threshold of death, and maybe find it not. Whereas your part is to go out to the battle of your City, where maybe death awaits you. This you know in your heart." He looked at Denethor then, long and hard. Denethor did not blanch.

"He will not wake again," he spoke out of tight lips, "Battle is vain. Why should we wish to live longer? Why should we not go to death side by side?"

Mithrandir laid Faramir gently on the bier on which he had been borne to the place. "Authority is not given to you, Steward of Gondor, to order the hour of your death. And only the heathen kings, under the domination of the dark power, did thus, slaying themselves in pride and despair, murdering their kin to ease their own death." His voice shook with rage. Pippin by my side looked up at me, then back at Denethor, who stood looking at Faramir, his face dreamlike.

"Come!" Mithrandir finally spoke, "We are needed. There is much that you can yet do."

At the moment when Denethor drew himself up tall, laughing at the wizard and then showing the Palantir he had as a pillow, my attention was in another place. One of the guards at the foot of the steps moved, and my heart faltered. By my hand was he struck down, was it not right that I should go to him as he died. Perhaps there was something he wanted to say.

I slipped down the stairs, Denethor and Mithrandir being in hot debate. Kneeling, I took the man's helmet off slowly, then looked into his eyes.

"Forgive me, brother." I whispered, "I slew you out of dire need."

He choked, blood frothing in one corner of his mouth. His words and breath came in rasps. "You did....what you thought....right. Do......something....." He faltered, closing his eyes. I leaned in.

"Yes? Do what?" I pressed.

His eyes reopened. "For me," he gasped. His eyes began to dim. "Lay...my sword.....on.....my grave......for.....me," he said. I nodded slowly. He smiled, and then his spirit passed from this world into the next. I bowed my head, and then words greeted my ears.

"To me it would seem that a Steward who faithfully surrenders his charge is diminished in love or in honor," Mithrandir was saying, "And at the least you shall not rob your son of the choice while his death is still in doubt."

I saw Denethor's eyes flame up, and he shifted the Palantir to underneath his arm. Drawing a knife from some hidden place, he strode towards the bier and my captain. In two leaps I was up the steps, sword in hand and ready to kill him. I had killed three already, and to save my lord I would kill yet again.

"So!" Denethor screamed, "Thou hadst already stolen half my son's love! Now thou stealest the hearts of my knights also, so that they rob me wholly of my son at the last. But in this at least thou shalt not defy my will: to rule my own end." He turned to the steps and the waiting guards. "Come hither! Come if you are not all recreant!" He shot a look at me, and the insult again stung fiercely. I stood still as the guards ran up the steps towards him. Denethor grabbed the torch out of one of the guards hands, and then darted into the house. He thrust it into the wood, and then leapt onto the table. It crackled and burst into flame, and Denethor with it. He smiled, picked up the staff of the stewardship and broke it ruthlessly on his knee, casting the pieces into the fire. Then he grabbed the Palantir and lay down.

Mithrandir sighed heavily and shut the doors, quickly. A shout came from inside, and we all looked at one another. "So passes Denethor, son of Ecthelion." Mithrandir said grimly, "And so pass also the days of Gondor that you have known; for good or evil are they ended. Ill deeds have been done here; but let now all enmity that lies between you be put away," we glanced at each other sadly, "for it was contrived by the enemy and works his will. You have been caught in a net of warring duties that you did not weave. But think, you servants of the Lord, blind in your obedience, that but for the treason of Beregond Faramir, Captain of the White Tower, would now also be burned." He looked at me and smiled, and hope sprang afresh in my breast and kindled the tiniest of flames. Then with a sigh, he turned to the guards.

"Bear away from this unhappy place your comrades who have fallen. And we will bear Faramir, Steward of Gondor, to a place where he can sleep in peace, or die if that be his doom."

The guards moved silently to pick up the men I had slain, and Mithrandir and I took up the bier that held Faramir. I looked down, for in the triumph of the moment I had forgotten the grave danger Faramir was still in, and now looking at him, I realized that his condition was serious indeed.

Once we had placed him in the care of the warden of the Houses of Healing, I came once more to my post. And there it was that Pippin found me. He looked up at me solemnly.

"Beregond, will he live? Gandalf has gone back into battle, and I have no where else to go. What hope is there?"

I shook my head and looked down. "Not much." I said slowly.

Pippin was silent, gazing out at the battle still being fought. "Just a fools hope," he whispered, and then looked at me. "Just a fools hope, Beregond. But it was just a fools hope that got Frodo and us safely to Rivendell, wasn't it? It was a fools hope that helped us survive in the Mines of Moria, and it was a fools hope that got Merry and me free from the Uruk-Hai that had us. It was a fools hope at the battle of Helm's Deep that got us through, and just a fools hope that followed the Ents to Isengard to finish Saruman. It was a fools hope that is helping Frodo and Sam at this very moment, and it was a fools hope we both shared that got Faramir out of the clutches of Denethor. And it is still a fools hope..." He stopped and squinted his eyes into the growing light of sunrise. I gazed hither to, then blinked. The hilltop was growing thick with something...men, I realized with a start. A horn wafted up to us, then hundreds followed. Pippin turned back to me, grinning. "Just a fools hope that Rohan would come to our aid."

I smiled at the halfling, and of it's own accord my heart lifted so that I felt I could fly. I had no idea what half of what he had said meant, but... "You truly are a wonder, Master Halfling," I said, "But then perhaps I am a fool."

"We are both fools," Pippin said, "And glad we are to be them too."

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N:** Alright, a few notes for this chapter. First of all, I took out the bold. Personally, it gave me a headache too;-) And Berzerkerprime: I'm very sorry I neglected to say this in the beginning...it totally slipped my mind! I mean't to tell you all that the beginning of the story ISN'T from the books. I'm sure most of you got that;-) but just to clear MY name (yes, I DO know the storyline of ROTK) I did that on purpose. It worked with my story better that way. My apologies for that!!

**Disclaimer:** Two small things here (unless I'm forgetting something else, in which case you can all be kind and tell me;-) Duliet is mine and mine alone. I made up the name, the character etc. I decided he needed a wife (they talk about his son, but never his wife.) Most likely in the book it's because she was sent away with the other women and children, but I interpreted it differently (she needs to be there;-) Also, I am well aware that it is the warden of the Houses of Healing who says the doggerel, but I fudged that a tiny bit to include Duliet a bit;-) Alright, I think that's everything!

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For Captain Faramir: Chapter Two

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By Dimfuin

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The metallic rasp as I drew the sword from it's sheath shattered the silence of the quiet evening. All around the city men were silent...a strange mixture of heaviness and lightness in their hearts. Lightness from the great victory with which we had vanquished our enemies, and heaviness for our fallen brothers. I knelt, holding the bright sword in my palms, weighing it carefully. I hesitated a moment, staring at the fresh grave, then laid it gently on top of the raw soil, whispering, "Be in peace, Guard of the Steward."

Standing, I laid a hand on my heart and walked slowly backwards, sighing.

"You need not feel dishonored," came the voice, soft and gentle. I closed my eyes.

"Not dishonored, Duliet. Merely mournful," I said slowly. She laid a hand on my shoulder, turning me gently until I faced her.

"They told me everything, Beregond, when they brought Lord Faramir in. He owes you his life." My wife's soft brown eyes looked up into mine, searchingly, looking for a way to help, to heal as she did at the Houses of Healing every day.

I turned back towards the grave. "Aye, but my own life is now forfeit. Do you regret my choice, Dulie?"

My wife smiled. "Of course not. But you shall not be killed. Lord Faramir will soon know that it was you that saved him from the fire, and he will pardon you. Have no fear my husband."

"Then you believe he will live?" I asked.

Duliet frowned slowly. "Truly, I do not know, Beregond. He lies wandering in a desperate fever, and naught that we can do will quench the fire in his veins." She sighed. "It seems only a miracle will save him now."

"Father! Mother!" A small voice caused both of us to turn and my wife smiled at our son.

"What is it, Bergil?" She asked.

My son frowned. "The healers call for your skill, mother. They say that time is running out for the perian, as well as for the Lady of Rohan. And...and...for Captain Faramir too." Bergil's voice died to whisper and he flung himself into his mother's arms, sobbing. Duliet nodded.

"We must go, my son. And..." she turned to me, "You will come as well, Beregond?"

I nodded silently. I would be there for the final moments of my Captain, whom I had risked so much to save.

As we entered the fair dwellings of the sick and wounded, I noticed a group of men about the doorway. One was Mithrandir, I realized. I slipped away from my wife and son and walked slowly over to them.

"...Until Faramir awakes," one was saying, a tall man with a noble look. He was clad in a simple gray cloak over mail, but on his breast was a shimmering green stone. I caught my breath. "But it is my council that Gandalf should rule us all in the days that follow and in our dealings with the enemy."

The other men---whom I recognized to be Prince Imrahil and the Lord Eomer of Rohan---nodded their heads in agreement. It was Mithrandir who spoke next. "Let us not stay at the door, for the time is urgent. Let us enter! For it is only in the coming of Aragorn that any hope remains for the sick that lie in the house. Thus spake Ioreth, wise-woman of Gondor: The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known."

The men nodded and moved toward the doorway. [The hands of...the king?] I thought in confusion. [This, then, is the King?] I hurried after them, mind in turmoil.

At the door there were two guards...one tall, but the other, I saw with a smile, was Pippin. As he laid eyes on the tall man with the green stone, his face broke out in smiles and he shouted, "Strider! How splendid! Do you know, I guessed it was you in the black ships. But they were all shouting corsairs and wouldn't listen to me. How did you do it?"

The man laughed and knelt, taking Pippin's hand in his. "Well met indeed!" He smiled, "But there is not time yet for traveler's' tales."

Peregrin laughed, but I heard Prince Imrahil mutter ahead of me, "Is it thus that we speak to our kings? Yet maybe he will wear his crown in some other name!"

The man turned, standing up again. Tall indeed, I saw he was, and noble. [Truly, he must be the king!] I realized with a start.

"Verily, for in the high tongue of old I am Elessar, the Elfstone, and Envinyatar, the Renewer." He smiled, lifting the green gem. "But Strider shall be the name of my house, if that be ever established. In the high tongue it will not sound so ill, and Telcontar I will be and all the heirs of my body."

Then turning, he passed through the door, with Mithrandir by his side. Pippin fell into step with me, in the back, and as we walked, Mithrandir told Aragorn the Lady of Rohan and the other perian's tale. Soon we arrived at Faramir's room, and all entered in. Worry stirred in my heart again at the pale face of the Steward. Duliet smiled at me as I entered and walked over, squeezing my hand. I slipped my arm around her waist, whispering, "It is the King, Dilie. Mithrandir has brought the King into the City to heal the sick. There is hope."

She gazed up at me in wonder, then on the face of Aragorn, who was intently watching the face of Faramir. "Alas," he said softly, "Here I must put forth all such power and skill as is given to me. Would that Elrond were here, for he is the eldest of all our race and has the greatest power." He sighed and great weariness and sorrow was etched onto his face.

Eomer spoke, "First you must rest, surely, and at the least eat a little?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Nay, for these three, and most soon for Faramir, time is running out. All speed is needed." He unclasped his cloak slowly, tossing it over a chair. Then he turned to Ioreth, who hovered near the bedside. "You have store in this House of the herbs of healing?" He asked.

Ioreth nodded, glancing at my wife. "Yes lord, but not enough, I reckon, for all that will need them. But I am sure I do not know where we shall find more; for all things are amiss in these dreadful days, what with the fires burning..."

I nudged Duliet and raised an eyebrow. She sighed and shook her head. "Once you get her started there's no stopping her." She whispered. I glanced at Faramir.

"...But we do our best in this house with what we have, as I am sure your lordship will know."

"I will judge that when I see it." Aragorn said, and dare I say I thought I saw the tiniest bit of mirth behind the worry in his eyes? "One thing also is short, time for speech. Have you athelas?"

Ioreth frowned. "I do not know, I am sure lord. At least not by that name." She smiled. "I will go and ask of the herb-master; he knows all the old names."

Aragorn caught her arm as she hastened towards the door. "It is also called kingsfoil, and maybe you know it by that name, for so the country-folk call it in these latter days."

"Oh that!" Ioreth smiled. "Well if your lorship had named it at once I could have told you!..."

Eomer by my side groaned softly. I smiled. "She is incorrigible, is she not?" I whispered, and he turned towards me, smiling.

"Aye, that she is." He nodded, "And a right gossip."

"...Still it smells sweet when bruised, does it not?" She was finishing, "If sweet is the right word: wholesome, maybe, is nearer."

My Captain groaned softly and Aragorn turned towards him. When he spoke his voice was urgent. "Wholesome verily." He turned back to Ioreth and us. "And now dame, if you love the Lord Faramir, run as quick as your tongue and get me kingsfoil, if there is a leaf in the City."

Mithrandir nodded as Ioreth hastened off. "And if not," he said, "I will ride to Lossarnach with Ioreth behind me, and she shall take me to the woods, but not to her sisters. And Shadowfax shall show her the meaning of haste."

Aragorn nodded and then turned to Duliet. "Prepare hot water," he said, and then went to Faramir's bedside. He took one of his hands gently in his, and placed the other on the sick man's brow. It was drenched in sweat, and as Duliet boiled the water I could see the fear in her eyes. Faramir's lips were parted, but no breath seemed to be drawn nor coming from them. He did not flinch as Aragorn touched him.

"He is nearly spent," Aragorn murmured, then turned to face us. "But this comes not from the wound. See! That is healing. Had he been smitten by some dart of the Nazgul, as you thought, he would have died that night. This hurt was given by some Southron arrow, I would guess. Who drew it forth? Was it kept?" He searched our faces.

Imrahil spoke up. "I drew it forth," he said, "And staunched the wound. But I did not keep the arrow, for we had much to do. It was, as I remember, just a dart as the Southrons use. Yet I believed that it came from the shadows above, for else his fever and sickness were not to be understood; since the wound was not deep or vital. How then do you read the matter?" He asked, puzzled.

Aragorn sighed. "Weariness, grief for his father's mood, a wound, and over all the Black Breath. He is a man of staunch will, for already he had come close under the Shadow before ever he rode to battle on the out-walls. Slowly the dark must have crept on him, even as he fought and strove to hold his outpost. Would that I could have been here sooner!"

I shuddered, remembering the face of Denethor as he lit the fire and broke his staff. [Would that you had been here sooner as well, my lord.] I thought sadly, [Much hurt could have been bypassed.] The face of Delthain flickered across my weary mind too, and I looked down. "You need not feel dishonored." The words of my wife came back to me. Would that I could save her and my son from the oncoming darkness as well!

"When the Black Breath blows,

And death's shadow grows,

And all lights pass,

Come athelas! Come athelas!

Life to the dying,

In the king's hand lying."

I looked up, amazed, to find my wife just uttering the verse. She looked up from the fire at all of our expressions and smiled. "Is that our hope, Lord?" She asked shyly, looking at Aragorn. He nodded.

"It is. You remember well the old verse." He said.

Duliet nodded. "It is but an old doggerel...a saying that women such as Ioreth and I still remember in these houses. I never thought it had much truth until now."

Aragorn nodded. "Many things that you may think old wives tales are in reality strong truths, Duliet, daughter of Kerianna." Then he turned to Faramir again, and knelt. He placed his hand on his brow once again, and immediately the air in the room felt thicker. Faramir's face changed not, but Aragorn's face grew weary and gray. We all felt the tension...the struggle of wills going on.

"Faramir!" Aragorn called loudly. "Faramir!" Again and again...but every time it was fainter. I felt that Aragorn was no longer here, not in this room or in our company, but was in a distant place, maybe with Faramir. Calling, ever calling. Calling for one who was lost.

Finally he stopped, eyes still closed, though the air grew less stifling. His face regained a little color, and he breathed deeply.

"Sir!" I recognized the voice of my son as he ran in, "It is kingsfoil Sir, but not fresh, I fear. It must have been culled two weeks ago at the least. I hope it will serve, Sir?" He stared at Aragorn and then his gaze fell on the still pale and fevered Steward. Bergil burst into tears, and Duliet bent to embrace him quickly. Aragorn smiled kindly at him.

"It will serve," he said, "The worst is now over. Stay and be comforted!" He took two of the leaves in his hands and breathed on them gently. Then, closing his eyes, he crushed them between his hands and cast them into the steaming water Duliet held out to him. Immediately a living freshness filled the room. All stirred and looked about, and my heart was suddenly filled with joy. I was reminded at once of the cool refreshing feel of the creek water I and my brother used to play in as lads, once upon a day.

Aragorn smiled and stood up, and then taking the bowl of water and athelas, he held it in front of the sick face of Faramir.

"Well now!" Ioreth said to Duliet, "Who would have believed it? The weed is better than I thought. It reminds me of the roses of Imroth Melui when I was a lass, and no king could ask for better."

In the lightness of her heart, Duliet made a face at me from behind Ioreth's back and I smiled back at her. Hard it was to believe anything could be wrong in this moment!

Suddenly, Faramir stirred in his wanderings, and he opened his eyes. Ioreth, Eomer, Imrahil, Pippin, Duliet, Bergil, and I all gasped as one, but neither Aragorn nor Faramir seemed to realize we were in the room. A light of love and knowledge was kindled in Faramir's eyes, and he spoke gently. "My lord, you called me. What does the king command?"

"Walk no more in the shadows, but awake!" Aragorn said, smiling, "You are weary. Rest a while, and take food, and be ready when I return." He straightened slowly.

Faramir nodded. "I will lord," he spoke, "For who would lie idle when the king has returned?"

With the gentle dignity which only a true king can display, Aragorn nodded and smiled. "Farewell then for a while!" He said, "I must go to others who need me." And with that, he picked up his cloak and left the room, Mithrandir, Eomer, Imrahil, and Pippin following. The eyes of Faramir followed him out the door, and then they shut wearily. Duliet hastened forward, placing a hand on his forehead. A smile broke out on her face.

"The fever is gone." She said, looking at me, "He sleeps peacefully. It is a miracle!"

"King! Did you hear that? What did I say? The hands of a healer, I said," Ioreth said proudly.

"The king is come." I said to Duliet and Bergil, and to no one and everyone in particular. "The king has returned!" I turned toward the window and dark of night from which the light of the moon shone bright, "And all we had was a fool's hope."

_

To be continued...

_


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N:** Alright, here's the last chapter. I hope you all have enjoyed this, and THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR AWESOME REVIEWS!!!

**Disclaimer:** This is probably the most original chapter of all, so a lot of this is my own imagination;-) Oh, and I forgot to say before that the name Delthain belongs to me too. The short verse Beregond remembers in this chapter is part of the lyrics to the song "Into the West" sung by Annie Lennox, so I don't own that either. See you all in the reviews!

**

For Captain Faramir: Chapter Three

**

_

By Dimfuin

_

The next morning the standard of Dol Amroth fluttered above the city, and we were all puzzled.

"Dol Amroth!" Spoke a passerby on the street, to no one in particular, "Prince Imrahil rules the city while Faramir is ill. Where then, is the King? Was he but a dream, and has now retired back into the shadows and songs from whence he came to us?" He sighed and shook his head.

"Nay," I said, "He was here. The king has returned, but now he waits to enter the City. For what I do not know, yet he will come in his own time. Be comforted, brother." And with that I moved forward.

Indeed, it was within very few days that the whole company of soldiers moved out, headed towards Mount Doom. Likely it was that they went to their deaths, but when we knew not. Likely darkness would come swiftly upon Minis Tirith and the end of our lives as well, but that I knew not in those dark days. All I knew was to wait...watch and wait.

Happily, during those days of waiting, things were not all dark and sad. One day as I entered the Healing places to speak with Duliet and perhaps my captain, Duliet waved me over to the window and bid me look out.

"Look below, in the garden, Beregond. What see you?" she smiled. I bent my head out the window and looked into the garden. There, to my joy, I beheld the Steward seated under a tree, and with him was the Lady Eowyn. Their heads were bent close together, in discussion, and I looked back at Duliet. She winked at me and turned back to the bed.

"Think you that Faramir will finally find joy?" she asked, smoothing the sheets out. "The Lady Eowyn is worthy, and fair as the day. I am happy for him."

"And I too," I smiled, coming up behind her and slipping my arms around her. "The joys of being wed are immense, oh my wife."

Duliet turned to me and laughed, then stood on tip-toe to kiss me. "And I," she whispered, "have never regretted it."

Daily Faramir and Eowyn met and walked. This was related to me by Duliet, and she told me that the Warden of the Houses of Healing was pleased with this.

"Daily they grow in strength," he said.

Then came the day when the news came. I was at my post (judgment would not be meted out until the Steward was well again or the king returned) when the eagle came.

_"Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor,_

For the realm of Sauron is ended forever,

And the Dark Tower is thrown down.

Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard,

For your watch hath not been in vain,

And the Black Gate is broken,

And your king hath passed through,

And he is victorious.

Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,

For your king shall come again,

And he shall dwell among you,

All the days of your life.

And the tree that was withered shall be renewed,

And he shall plant it in the high places,

And the City shall be blessed.

Sing all ye people!"

Sang the eagle, and immediately the great burden of watching and waiting was lifted off of our hearts and we all sang for joy in the streets, in the houses, on our posts and in the fields.

Then Faramir took up the Stewardship, if only for a little while, as he was well again. We all rejoiced to see him and called out to him as he walked the streets, and he replied with equal joy.

But only one person in all the city remained ailing...the Lady Eowyn. For days, when I came to the Houses of Healing, I saw her walking the gardens alone, and their was worry in the eyes of Duliet and Ioreth, and of the Warden of the Houses of Healing.

"Was she not to go to the Field of Cormallen, Duliet?" I asked, gazing out the window at her once more. Duliet sighed.

"She was begged by her brother, Lord Eomer, but she would not go. I know not why, but she declines in health once more."

Late that day the Warden decided to take action, and he sent Duliet with a message to Lord Faramir.

She found him in the great hall, alone, looking over maps. He looked up as she entered, and smiled.

"Duliet!" he said, straightening, "Welcome. What is it you wish to speak with me of?" He asked as she rose from her curtsey.

She cast her eyes on the inlaid floor. "I am come from the Warden of the Houses of Healing," she started, then looked into his eyes. "He bids me ask you to come and speak with the Lady Eowyn."

Faramir frowned, asking, "What then does he wish me to say?"

"My lord, the White lady fades daily, for what reason I know not. She walks alone in the gardens, gazing east, ever east, and she barely eats. You are aware that she received an invitation to join her brother in their merrymaking, yet she declined to go. Please, my lord...you must speak with her."

Faramir nodded, sighing. "I will. Thank you, Duliet."

The next day they were to be seen on the walls, talking, and Duliet and I gazed anxiously upon them. Then came a moment when Faramir looked deep into her eyes, and she into his, and then the pale face of Eowyn changed and she looked about her, smiling. She turned her gaze once more on Faramir, and a flush crept up her cheeks. He laughed, and then, to out astonishment, he took her in his arms and kissed her. As they descended the steps their seemed to be an aura of shining light around them and I finally felt that all was right.

A minute later they came through the door and Faramir addressed the Warden.

"Here is the Lady Eowyn of Rohan, and now she is healed," he said, smiling down upon her.

Then the Warden smiled too and said, "Then I release her from my charge and bid her farewell, and may she suffer never hurt or sickness again. I commend her to the care of the Steward of the City until her brother returns."

But Eowyn laughed and shook her head, saying, "Yet now that I have leave to depart, I would remain. For this House has become to me of all dwellings the most blessed."

And so she stayed.

Alas, there is one part to my short and rather disjointed tale that must be told for the sake of truthfulness. All was not perfect, for nothing can be, and amid all the joy in our hearts there was also grief.

A week after Faramir took up the Stewardship, he summoned me to his presence, for what reason I did not know, though I had an idea. I entered to find him reading, sitting by the fire. As I moved forward he looked up, but did not rise, and after I had bowed to him, he gestured to a seat by his.

"Sit, please, Beregond," he said, laying the book down slowly. "I wish to talk with you."

I complied quickly, and asked him what he wished to know.

For a moment he was silent, and then he looked up at me, his face expressionless. "I wish to know, Beregond, the tale of my father's death and my saving, for I know from dropped hints that they are closely tied. Doubtless Mithrandir gave instructions ere he rode forth that I not be told of what had passed until I was well again, but here I am recovered. Be faithful in your tale, Beregond, and speak freely. I do not wish to hear lies or a softer version than the truth."

I swallowed. Of course I would not lie to my lord, but there are ways of phrasing things less harshly. My mind, however could think of no ways to soften the blow, so I squared myself and began the tale. As I spoke, I watched the face of Faramir. It was for the most part changeless, but I noticed slight cringes when I spoke of the words and deeds of Lord Denethor. These I spoke of with great care, yet I said no untruth. Finally, I ended my tale and we were silent for a long moment.

"Thank you, Beregond," Faramir finally said, rousing himself. "You're tale is satisfying, and I have gathered more even than you put into words. I realize that were it not for you I too would have burned in my Father's madness." He fell silent, and I sat uncomfortably for another long minute. Finally, he rose and I rose also.

"Again, thank you my friend," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder, "I shall not forget this, and if I can, I will put in a good word for you when the king returns. You may go."

I bowed again and started out the door, then turned. "My lord?" I said, and he turned to face me. "If I may be so bold?"

He nodded and I went on. "Where will the Lady Eowyn and you reside in the days that follow?"

Faramir smiled, as if merely the thought of Eowyn lifted the clouds that hung over our meeting. "We shall dwell in Ithilien, if the king has no better use for me, Beregond."

I smiled and bowed, and after that I took my leave. As I walked the dark streets, I gazed up at the bright stars and thought upon my actions and the consequences of them. There was no doubt that I would be killed for what I had done, but, surprisingly, the thought did not disturb me. [If that be my fate,] I sighed, [Then so be it.]

_And all will turn_

To silver glass

A light on the water

All souls pass

The words of the song came to mind and I sang them aloud as I walked. Peace from where I knew not filled me and I knew that if dying was indeed what was ahead, I was prepared.

The throne room was bright that day, that fateful day. The sunshine shone through the high windows and dappled the marble floor with a spotted splendor. The walk had never seemed that long---never. As I made my way across the great hall I did not turn my head either to the right nor to the left; the statues of kings of old did not snag my attention. Up ahead I saw him, sitting upon his throne. No one had sat there for so many long years, I found myself thinking about how odd it was that he was there. Ah...that walk really HAD gotten longer, hadn't it?

Finally, I reached the foot of the throne and I knelt, bowing low. My hour of judgement had come, and I was prepared to face it without trepidation.

"Rise," he said slowly, and I marveled at the richness in his voice. He looked so different in his splendor than when I saw him that day when he healed Faramir. Different...and yet not. I rose, looking at his face.

"Beregond, by your sword blood was spilled in the Hallows, where that is forbidden. Also you left your post without leave of Lord or Captain. For these things, of old, death was the penalty. Now therefore I must pronounce your doom."

[Here it is.] I thought, standing straighter.

Then, to my surprise, he smiled. "All penalty is remitted for your valor in battle, and still more because all you did was for the love of the Lord Faramir. Nonetheless you must leave the Guard of the Citadel, and you must go forth from the city of Minus Tirith." He paused.

I stood, stricken. I felt the color drain from my face, and, try as I might, I could not stop my hands from shaking slightly. Death, I could stand. But to be forced to leave my beloved city, dismissed in disgrace from the service of the King...what was I to do...where could I go? And what of Bergil, my son, and Duliet, my wife? Where could I take them? Bergil would grow in the knowledge that his father had been banished from Minus Tirith for the rest of his life...

"So it must be," the King proceeded, and I dared not look him in the eye, "For you are appointed to the White Company, the Guard of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, and you shall be it's Captain and dwell in Emyn Arnen in honor and peace, and in the service of him for whom you risked all, to save him from death."

I looked up quickly. Had I heard right? Nay, I could not have. Yet my heart rose and gave a quick thump. King Aragorn smiled down on me and suddenly, I sprang forward and, kneeling, kissed his hand.

"Thank you, my lord," I said, nearly suffocated from the joy within. He smiled and nodded his head.

"Go now," he said, "And tell you wife and son. May you live long and well, Beregond, Captain of the White Company."

I bowed again, then turned and hastened from the hall. It took me mere seconds to get across it this time, and I raced to the Houses of Healing to tell Duliet.

Bursting through the door, I picked her up and swung her around the room, crying, "Dulie! Dulie my love, you will never believe these tidings!"

She laughed and bid me put her down, which I did, and then I told her all that the king had said. When I had done, she gasped and put a hand to my cheek.

"But, Beregond, can this be true?"

"As true as can be, Duliet my wife. We shall dwell with Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn in Emyn Arnen, in sight of Minus Tirith forever."

Duliet looked down for a long while, and when I gently raised her chin, a tear glistened on her cheek.

"My love, what is it?" I asked, worried. "Does this displease you in any way?"

Duliet sniffed and shook her head, drawing near to me. "No, Beregond. No. It is just the opposite. Nothing could please me more!"

I hugged her back, gazing out the window at the mountains, and the verse that the King had spoke at the coronation came into my mind.

"Et Earello Endorenna utulien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-mette," I spoke slowly.

The king had returned.

**

The End

**

**Elvish translation:** Out of the Great Sea to Middle-Earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.


End file.
